


where the lines overlap

by niallcentric



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Random & Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niallcentric/pseuds/niallcentric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Niall really hated touring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the lines overlap

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this a good two years ago. i was going through my old documents and realized i never posted this up. it was just something i wrote randomly with no real intention of going anywhere with it. so... enjoy?

There were some things that frustrated Niall about touring.

The number one thing, the most obvious thing, was not seeing his family. He got homesick often and every now and then he’d need to hear his mother’s voice to calm him down.

Then there was the lack of personal space. They only had one tour bus and it wasn’t big. The first couple of days of getting back on the road weren’t bad, but as the weeks wore on, it was like the bus got smaller and smaller. The lack of anything to do and five teenage boys occupying the same space all at once was enough to drive the sanest person mad. With Niall already being a bit claustrophobic, it usually affected him the most. It was like cabin fever.

Food was also an issue. Niall’s appetite called for three full meals a day with a couple snacks in between and the bus’s mini fridge just couldn’t handle the load. It was able to fit two or three small frozen dinners, some yogurt (that no one ever ate) and whatever else they were able to cram in there from their invigorating trips to the service stations.

Those were common annoyances.

But the thing that might’ve bothered Niall the most was a certain curly-haired band mate that had accidentally-maybe-on-purpose flipped his world completely upside down.

He said accidentally-maybe-on-purpose because it was _conceivable_ that Harry hadn’t exactly realized the emotional turmoil he’d put the blonde through on a daily basis, but Niall was convinced that the havoc wreaked on his brain couldn’t have possibly been accidental. With the amount of times Niall had blushed and stuttered and tripped around the Cheshire lad, there was no way Harry _didn’t_ know what he was doing.

Just no way.

Niall was the most obviously oblivious person on the planet. He rarely had any clue of what was going on around him that wasn’t already established as important, and everyone knew he was clueless. He wore his emotions on his sleeve so if he were both flustered and suspicious of Harry’s behavior, Harry was sure to know about it because it was _Niall_ and he was _obvious_. He didn’t know how to not be obvious and whenever he tried he just ended up looking _more_ obvious.

What was really frustrating was how Harry could rile him up without even meaning to (but of course that wasn’t true because Harry knew what he was doing he was just pretending not to – _“The fucker,”_ Niall would sneer).

Niall would drag his feet into the kitchenette/living area/front of the bus in the morning, sleepily tugging the first shirt he could find over his head before scratching his stomach and yawning widely and noisily. He would gaze blearily around the area to see who was awake and who wasn’t, eyes eventually landing on a snuggled up Harry on the small couch, large hands wrapped around a cup of tea. His legs, clad in sweatpants, curled up against his chest and a beanie warming his head with a few wild curls sticking out of the sides.

The friction of Niall’s feet against the rug would stir Harry out of his trance – usually staring at the television without really seeing what was playing – and he’d smile a tired smile at Niall and curl a bit tighter into himself before saying in a low, sleep-ridden voice, “Morning, baby.”

And butterflies would flutter madly in Niall’s stomach and he’d just think, _“It’s too early for this shit,”_ because he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cuddle Harry under a blanket or straddle him and make him scream and beg and really wreck that voice.

“Mornin’, Harry,” he’d greet back and ruffle through their cabinets for a clean bowl so he could pour some cereal.

If Harry was in a good enough mood (sometimes he’d wake up on the wrong side of the bunk and be pissy for half the morning and then Niall certainly wouldn’t hear any _baby_ ’s from him until at least noon) he’d spread his legs and pull Niall down beside him once his cereal was ready and situate Niall in between them. Niall’s back would start sweating from the body heat of Harry’s naked chest but he wouldn’t say a word. He also wouldn’t say a word when Harry’d reach around him and scoop himself spoonful after spoonful of whatever cereal Niall had chosen that morning and eat over half of his breakfast.

The venue would have something for him to eat anyways. It’s not like they’d let him _starve_.

By that point Niall was pretty much already done for the day. And they hadn’t even made it to rehearsals.

Scouring the venue was always an adventure. When the boys weren’t needed, they’d search every nook and cranny. Funny how they were all sick of being cooped up together in such a small space and yet whenever they’d have an entire venue to spread their arms and just breathe, they’d lock themselves in a hall closet and giggle and share breaths and cause mischief until it was time to go back to work.

“Check this out, babe,” Harry would say, swinging their laced fingers between them as he pulled them along like they were tourists who’d never seen the backstage of a concert hall before. Sometimes Harry would stop them in the middle of nowhere, somewhere near the lower levels probably where they could hear their whispers echoing off the floors in the narrow passageways, and whip his phone out for a good picture.

“Smile, beautiful,” and Harry would wrap his arms around Niall’s middle and duck down to get them both in the shot and Niall knew he took pictures with everyone but was it always supposed to be that _intimate_?

Later when they’d all worked up an appetite from rehearsing and sneaking into areas that were probably off limits to those who didn’t work there, they’d assemble in a mock dining hall for some dinner. Harry would leave an open space for Niall right next to him because of course Niall wasn’t supposed to sit anywhere else and instead of eating off their own plates, they’d steal from each other’s.

“Good, darling?” Harry’d ask as Niall chewed thoughtfully, then chuckle at the pet name like he couldn’t believe he said it though he didn’t look too entirely displeased by it and Niall surely wasn’t complaining, and he’d correct himself by saying, “Baby,” again and no, that wasn’t Niall swooning because he was a guy and guys didn’t swoon.

On stage, in front of people, it was a little different. Harry was more subtle about his advances – which Niall was still convinced were planned at his expense. He’d pinch his bum as he passed by him or throw a wink in his direction when Louis would ask him to change the lyrics to something dirty. And those looks he’d throw at him were absolutely _filthy_. Niall just wanted to grab him and take him right on that stage floor and the twinkle in Harry’s eyes suggested he probably wouldn’t mind but that had to be a trick of the light.

Some venues were lucky enough to have showers. There wasn’t a lot of privacy – it was like being back in school with locker rooms – not that the boys minded much since, between them, they didn’t have a shred of dignity left. They’d seen each other naked more than was probably deemed acceptable for five teenage lads that, to the best of each other’s knowledge, were fairly straight. It wasn’t something they talked about.

Niall had to focus on his own shower instead of watching Harry take his. There was only so much the Irish boy could take before it was too much and he had to turn away. Harry lathered in soap suds and water sliding down his lean, muscular back—

And then he was there again, closer to Niall than he’d been before – was his shower finished already? – and he would utter, “Tired, baby?”

Niall’s slumped form under the warm stream of water certainly gave that sort of vibe and he’d just nod and pray to God Harry didn’t do something stupid like try to bathe him, which he’d tried before but Niall managed to shrug him off and claim to be ticklish whenever Harry would touch his sides. Harry ended up using that against him a lot afterward but he had a feeling it was better that way than what could’ve transpired had he let Harry’s hands wander a little further south.

The bunks were too tiny to fit more than one person. It just couldn’t be done unless someone was desperate for a good cuddle. More than likely they had to be in tears before the desperation was bad enough to be acted upon.

Instead of putting on a show like Niall easily could have to coax Harry into his bunk for the night, he’d simply smile a sleepy smile much like the one Harry would give him in the morning. And Harry would smile right back, a smile that would scream a thousand words that would probably never be said aloud, at least not to him. In their place, Niall would hear a, “Good night, angel,” and feel the tips of Harry’s finger trail down his cheek before leaving the skin bare and icy cold.

Niall would crawl into his bunk, exhausted from the day’s events but wide awake at the sight of two green eyes that played like background noise in his mind whenever he couldn’t see them for himself.

Sometimes Niall really hated touring.


End file.
